


An Offer From The Witch

by rapunzelrider



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Junkenstein's Revenge, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzelrider/pseuds/rapunzelrider
Summary: “What would you give me, were I to heal your arm, Gunslinger?”
A short story set in the Junkenstein's Revenge AU.





	

“What would you give me, were I to heal your arm, Gunslinger?”

The rustle of unnatural feathers, so unlike the sound of a bird, lightly rattled behind the outlaw. He whipped around, pistol drawn, to face The Witch. His fingers were already on the trigger of his six-shooter, and to his surprise, she seemed unperturbed. “Sneakin’ up on me like that, why, that couldda been the last thing you ever did,” he drawled. 

“Oh, I am very much aware of your skill,” her smile flashed in the moonlight. The outlaw wanted to look away but it was alarmingly beautiful. In his briefings for this little adventure, The Solider had failed to mention that. He supposed a man so tightly wound like that, loath though he was to overlook the tiniest detail, wouldn’t have even thought of it. Don’t look at her eyes, he told himself. What was it the folk tales said about her eyes? You’d see strange things, things you couldn’t explain. Her smile, disarming though it might be, seemed a better option for now. “You miss your arm, don’t you? Surely you know how trivial a matter it would be for my powers.” Her smile remained, pale pink lips just barely parted. 

He felt himself tense his left arm reflexively, and the metal plating glinted like her teeth off the moonlight filtering in from the trees. “I’m afraid, ma’am, I wouldn’t have much to offer a woman of your otherworldly talents. What kind of gentleman would I be to accept your offer of assistance when I had nothing to give you?” He felt small beads of sweat forming under his collar now.

“You certainly have the manners of a gentleman, even if you don’t have the look of one. Gunslinger, what is your name?”

“The name’s McCree.”

“Your Christian name.”

McCree knew the locals had mentioned something about this. His head had fogged on the details as he and The Alchemist had spent the earlier part of the night in the tavern trading combat stories and flagons of ale. If The Alchemist hadn’t listened too closely, how true could those tales be anyway? If her smile was that beautiful, he felt sure her eyes were worth just a glance. Seemed a shame to never know. The four of them were going to kill her after all, and he’d never have this chance again. He let his gaze waver from her smile for just a moment. 

Crystal blue ice, on a snow covered mountaintop. A beautiful woman with white gold hair braided with flowers. 

“Jesse. Jesse McCree.” He snapped his gaze back toward her chin. 

“Jesse,” The Witch had come even closer to him now. Her long nailed scraped the line of his jaw as she whispered his name. “Jesse, I asked you a question before. Do you miss your arm?” 

The sweat was running down his back, turned cold the second he broke contact with her eyes. He expected her touch to be cold, but it was so warm. The woods were filled with frigid air on this autumn night, but her body radiated warmth. She felt like standing next to a fire. A voice in the back of his mind told him to tell her the truth. “Not so much, if I’m being honest. Still the fastest shot around, still devilishly handsome. No ma’am, ain’t got much to complain about.”

Surprising him again, she laughed. “Did you think that would satisfy me, and we’d be on our way, to meet on the battlefield? No Jesse McCree, it is not so simple. There is something else you desire from me, otherwise your trigger finger would have never hesitated.”  
Her laughter caused him to shudder. The voice in the back of his head told him to keep staring at her chin, past her shoulder, anywhere but back to her eyes. She laughed again and he looked up.

A living room with a crackling fire. The woman’s hair was down now, her pink skin bared, shadows and light dancing in the glow of the fire. She was close, so very close, her skin so warm pressed against him. 

“So, if it is not your arm, what would it take for you to be my servant?”


End file.
